


Glass

by cuphugaddict



Category: The Night Manager (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Series, alternate universe (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7009858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuphugaddict/pseuds/cuphugaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his way to a local market, Jonathan stumbles over a familiar face in the hotel lobby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I got the word "glass" as a prompt from my creative writing group for our next meeting and for quite some time I had no idea what to do with it. ... And then, after re-watching a few episodes of the Night Manager I thought, why not make this a fan fiction? More so, because there clearly needs to be more Corky in this fandom, don't you agree?
> 
> Here is the result that I hope you are going to enjoy.

 

The doors of the elevator opened with a sophisticatedly quiet sound and allowed Jonathan into the luxurious lobby. His mind already at the various and colourful stalls at the local market as well as the corresponding scents, he nevertheless scanned the spacious hall – out of habit, more than anything else. Two years had passed without the hint of an incident and he was positive that if anybody still walking the face of this earth wanted his death, they would surely have already acted on their urge and done so.

 

Still, as he crossed the lobby that consisted mainly of marble, mirrors and an enormous glass statue that looked much like an artistic interpretation of a waterfall in the middle of the hall, he took note of each and every person currently present. As he walked with an energetic spring in his step, he firstly laid eyes on André, the rather young but nevertheless highly competent receptionist, as always in an impeccable suit. At the moment, he was checking-in an elderly couple – German, if Jonathan had heard correctly – and showed immense patience with the man. Jonathan was sure that he would have a very successful career in the hotel business.

Additionally, two young women were seated at the bar in expensive dresses, matching jewelry and about a ton of make-up. Sipping their Cosmopolitans out of quite extraordinarily fabricated martini glasses with engraved ornaments they apparently did not care at all that it was still only afternoon and way too early for what they were wearing. Each just married to a very rich man, Jonathan was certain. Apart from the barkeeper and a middle-aged man in a bathrobe descending to the Spa-area, there was no one to be seen.

 

As Jonathan had already set foot onto the marine blue carpet that lead into, respectively out of the hotel lobby, the familiar sound of laughter reached his ears. But not only was it the familiar laughter in a hotel lobby, as Jonathan had witnessed about a million in the course of his career, no, the laugh itself was familiar. Flabbergasted that he quite obviously had overlooked somebody, he took a step back and looked right through a huge wall of glass that separated the entrance area of the hotel from a few launch chairs. Jonathan’s heart stopped for a beat before it started raging again so loudly, that the man was sure the whole lobby could hear him panicking internally:

In one of the launch chairs sat, with two young, flawless and therefore stunning men, one to each of his respective sides, one Lance Corkoran. He held a glass of what clearly was champagne in one, and the knee of one of the two men in his other hand, slightly stroking upwards while he winked at the other one. Good old Corky.

 

Jonathan’s breath hitched due to the sight and as if on cue, Corky turned his head in his direction and caught his gaze. Like a deer in the headlights, the dirty-blond man swallowed. He was sure that Corkoran knew, knew everything by merely taking a single look at him. After all, it had been him, and only him who had always looked right through him. Jonathan was sure that the shorter man knew that it had been him who was about to turn on and hand Roper over to the police, which had resulted in him getting killed rather awfully, that he had used everybody, even Corky himself for his own good and that he had been a spy all along. Most importantly, this last point. Corky had known all along, he had never trusted him and had always remained skeptical. And ironically, Jonathan had lived up to confirm each and every one of Corkoran’s theories.

 

Corky laid his head to his side and pursed his lips, the hand in the young man’s knee involuntarily and only momentarily tightening. Taking another sip of his champagne, but never averting his eyes, Corky looked at Pine as if he could see into his very soul, into every dark corner that Jonathan sought to deny each and every day anew: Sophie’s death, infiltrating Roper and handing him over, using each and every person on his way without any thought or sense for regret, only thinking about his personal quest for revenge, using Jed – most of all using Jed – and abandoning her afterwards, the arsenal of his lies, his various identities in conflict with each other, his regrets, his guilt, his façade of the perfect gentleman whose smile never faltered, not even as his cock had twitched involuntarily as Corky had cast his alcohol-laden breath over it that day in the restaurant with the bloody shrimp salad.

 

Jonathan knew by the way Corkoran looked at him, by the way he looked right through him and his web of lies, that he saw everything. As if he was consisting of nothing but glass.


End file.
